


Silvertongue

by thylekshran



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-02-04 00:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12759006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thylekshran/pseuds/thylekshran
Summary: Weyoun 3 finds himself in the Beta Quadrant after the events of the TNG episode "Silicon Avatar," where he meets everyone's favorite evil android. They hit it off, sort of.





	1. Chapter 1

Weyoun Three has always been a loyal servant of the Dominion. He lived a blessed existence at the feet of the divine Founders and has never wished for anything different. Yet they have forsaken him, and he’s ended up here, in some uncivilized and unrecognizable sector, with only the impulse engines of his shuttle and his own wit to survive on. It was supposed to be a quick journey from his escort ship (he’d been assigned to negotiate with the locals of a new planet being ushered into the Dominion) back to the Karemma homeworld, where he served as long term ambassador of sorts, keeping an eye on the Dominion’s dealings in that sector. But a few light years before he reached his destination, sensors showed an odd shifting of space near his location, and now he’s on this inexplicable journey to the middle of nowhere. Whatever spatial phenomenon had taken him, the exit closed behind him and he’s been unable to force it back open.

Vorta were never meant to live apart from the Dominion, he muses to himself. It’s been a week since the accident, and without the guidance of his Gods he finds himself losing the will to take action on any of the number of problems he could be solving. Their genetic makeup was designed for diplomacy, not engineering or science. There’s nobody here to be diplomatic with, not even a single celled organism. His talents are being wasted.

Even as he thinks these despairing thoughts, something new pops up on sensors. He’s been traveling at one-quarter impulse in an arbitrary direction for the past five days, but this is the first time anything worth looking at has appeared. Scans don’t show any life signs, only various metals and fluids and trace other readings, yet the size of the object isn’t even large enough to be an escape pod, nor does it appear to be debris, since the circuitry shows no sign of damage. Whatever he’s discovered is in perfect working order, it’s simply… turned off.

Indulging one’s curiosity is not a not a pastime Vorta are accustomed to, but then again neither is anything Weyoun Three has been undergoing since the unknown forces of the universe swept him away. So he increases speed to full impulse and moves into transporter range. Whatever he expected to find, it wasn’t this.

\--

The last thing Lore remembers is his pathetic excuse for a brother deactivating him after his failed attempt to feed him to the Entity. Though Data is much closer to his equal than any other being, he doesn’t understand the breadth of the power they hold, and is worthy of contempt despite Lore’s unfortunate emotional attachment to him for his efforts to become human. Disgusting.

He knew he’d be awoken again. Technology like Soong-type androids holds too much fascination among organic humanoids who would seek to use him for their own gain, not that they could ever have a hold on him. To his mild disappointment, the alien he lays eyes upon as his systems turn on is not one he recognizes. That will make it harder to manipulate the situation in his favor. Lore frowns, assessing, when the pale creature speaks.

“Oh, how delightful!” The alien clearly has some sort of translator in this ship, which is good news. Lore is good with his tongue and being robbed of his speech would be an even greater setback. Purple eyes are watching him as he pulls himself to an upright position, and the crooning voice pipes up again. “I wasn’t sure if I’d found the right switch to wake you up!”

“It would appear that you have.” He’s almost inclined the thank the being for giving him an opportunity to take revenge on his deceitful brother, but decides it’s beneath him and bares his teeth in a crude imitation of a smile. “And you were wise to prove yourself worthwhile to me.” To his surprise, his shipmate seems undeterred, tilting his head slightly and returning the smile. It’s not cruel, but it’s edged with poison in a way that turns Lore’s stomach slightly.

“I may be separated from my Gods, but I have no intention of prostrating myself to you as a replacement.” Whatever this alien is, it doesn’t seem very strong. Lore could kill it and be done with it, and he’s certainly tempted if only to end whatever irritating line of conversation they’re following at the moment. But he’s intrigued by the bravery of it, and he so rarely finds anything intriguing. It would be a shame not to learn something about it first.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lore crashes the shuttle. Weyoun is his usual insufferable self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the funniest thing in the world is the idea that Lore would be genuinely scared by Weyoun's weird behavior so I ran with it.

Since neither man had any sense of where in the universe they were, Weyoun’s plan of random linear navigation in a single direction seemed the only option. He was surprised to learn that the android had never even heard of The Dominion, given how well travelled he seems to be. Though he’s never heard of a mechanical man, either, as The Founders surely would have set their minds to recruiting him. Lore is brilliant, a marvel of technology. His creator deserves a great deal of credit, though Weyoun is deeply impressed by the things Lore has done that were unintended. He’s become his own God, killed his creator, a disturbing (but deeply interesting) concept to the Vorta.

Lore finds Weyoun pitiable, as all lesser creatures are. His devotion to these Founders that he calls Gods is most depressing of all, but the contentment it seems to bring him makes him jealous. He’s never felt that sort of peace.

Scoffing at himself, Lore pulls away from this unproductive frame of mind. They’ve been out here three weeks, and while he doesn’t need to eat, Weyoun does, and he hasn’t given up hope of turning him into the beginnings of his new following. When they find the rest of the Vorta maybe they’ll want to follow him too, if his efforts with Weyoun are successful. And while he’s loathe to admit it, he’s grown rather attached to the idiotic little thing. For all his failings, Weyoun is charming, and Lore is dying to take advantage of his habitual ass kissing for his own benefit.

“If I’m not mistaken, there should be an inhabitable planet up ahead,” Lore says. “Perhaps there will be edible material on it.” Weyoun says nothing, just smiles his dangerous smile. Lore isn’t sure how to respond. “The transporter is broken, so we’re going to have to land.”

“Are you sure you know how?” Weyoun coos at him.

Lore gives him a withering stare. His smile never falters.

\--

It’s lucky that the planet is M class. Their shuttle certainly isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“I can’t believe you crashed it.” Weyoun’s smug voice is impossible to ignore, though Lore is certainly trying. “I thought a supposedly superior being such as yourself would be unable to make such a drastic mistake.”

“It was damaged before I came aboard,” Lore snaps in irritation. “And it’s not as if you were particularly helpful.” Lore isn’t sure that Weyoun is capable of laughter, but the putrid joy on the Vorta’s face is enough for him to know he’s being looked down upon. “You still aren’t.”

“I am not capable of fixing a shuttlepod. I was not designed with that knowledge, it does not serve my purpose.” Still nothing but that haunting, self-assured gaze.

“You haven’t shown me evidence you’re good for anything. What exactly are you designed for?”

“Diplomacy,” Weyoun responds, ever calm.

Lore snorts derisively. “No wonder you’re so miserably weak.”

The small alien tips his head. “I am a clone. Killing me would not end my life, so there is no value in designing me with physical strength in mind. Besides that, it would not be beneficial to you to kill me. You must have realized that, or I would be long dead.”

“It’s not benefiting me much to keep you alive, either!” Before Lore’s even aware of his own actions, he’s got a hand wrapped around Weyoun’s throat and is staring him down with a look of rage, mouth twisted. He’s out of control, giving in to the pure instincts ringing in his head that demand he act, destroy, dominate. He wants to tear this wretched alien to pieces. But the unfailing serenity of his companion stalls his hand, his energy balancing out Lore’s own. A strange tranquility stirs in Lore’s circuits, like a current suddenly dampened. “Luckily for you, it’s not worth my energy,” Lore sneers defensively, frustrated from not acting on the impulses he had always been driven by and confused by the reason why.

The purple eyes of the Vorta watch him as he stalks away, sparkling with exhilaration.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lore gets fed up with his own brain and shuts it up with some good old fashioned boning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I made this as complicated as I did. I invented a whole new plant-based alien for this project and I hate myself for it but I couldn't bear to change it either. Enjoy.
> 
> I'm going to write one more chapter of this to wrap the sort-of plot up but we're leaving it here for now.

Sulking around the perimeter of camp hadn't bettered Lore’s mood. Though he can't see Weyoun, he can't put him out of his mind either. Especially since the bastard appears to be exploring new ways to make himself insufferable by singing in the most tone deaf voice that Lore has ever had the displeasure of hearing.

If only to end the torment, Lore returns to the fire Weyoun somehow managed to start. He’s sitting on the wing of the shuttle, bringing his eye level up to Lore’s despite being several inches shorter. “Oh, was that you making those horrid sounds? I thought you were eating some local fauna live,” Lore says.

Weyoun looks plaintive, the first sign that he has any emotional range whatsoever. “It is unfortunate that The Founders did not see fit to bestow aesthetics on the Vorta,” he says. “I find music to be… intriguing, but there is no hope for it to become a talent.”

To his chagrin, Lore does not feel like mocking him, and the unhappiness he has instead is beyond the pity he extends to all beings. There's genuine empathy in his cold metal frame for this terrifying, aggravating alien, and it makes Lore furious. Yet as he approaches Weyoun with malice in his step, the dampening effect he felt earlier seeps into his limbs and slows his pace. Weyoun gazes at him from his perch, sadness wiped away instantly by his default superior smirk.

Lore clenches his fists and glares. “What have you done to me, you-”

“Despite appearances, I can defend myself,” Weyoun interrupts. “The Founders gave us an aura of sorts, that tempers violent behavior in others. That is what I have done to you.”

Lore gets right in his face. “I despise you.”

“You certainly seem to believe that.”

Lore scoffs, pushing his newfound empathy (and other emotions he will not name) out of his head. “Whatever game you’re playing with my feelings won’t give you control.”

“I’m not a telepath. Your feelings are your own.” Weyoun leans in until their noses are nearly touching and grins. “And what could you possibly feel for me, I wonder?”

They stare each other down for a long, excruciating moment. Unexpectedly, Weyoun moves first. He runs a hand down Lore’s cheek, watching the android battle his common sense with amusement.

“Now your creator, he understood the importance of aesthetics,” Weyoun croons. “Even I can see what a handsome design you've been gifted.” The last of his resolve is crumbling, and Weyoun senses it with delight. “Lore.” It's the first time he’s said his name. The word is candied on his tongue, and Lore shudders.

“Yes?”

“Tell me how you feel.”

This is worse than torture. “As if I’d allow something mundane like emotions to compromise me,” he deflects.

Weyoun strokes his face. “Sometimes, compromise gets you exactly what you want.” He lays feather light kisses up Lore’s jawline, and Lore can't stop himself from grabbing his hips and pulling him close.

Weyoun reaches his ear and whispers, so soft Lore can barely hear him. The timbre of his voice makes Lore hold him tighter. “Must I beg you to fuck me?”

“I’d like that,” Lore replies with an attempt at a sneer. It's unsuccessful and he knows it, undercut by the need warping his voice with static from his struggling vocal chords.

Weyoun laughs at him, but some kinder inclination wins out and he closes the gap to murmur a tease against Lore’s lips. “Please.”

Lore grabs Weyoun by the throat and kisses him until he has to break away, gasping for air and giggling. Lore is glad he has no breath of his own to lose so he can maintain some composure.

“Now that's the spirit!” Weyoun says. He blinks a few times and there’s a manic energy in his eyes as they refocus on Lore’s face.

Lore shifts his weight forward and plants his other hand on the shuttle next to him. “You want me, Vorta?” He gives Weyoun's neck a squeeze for emphasis, and he looks giddy.

“Oh, yes,” he says. “I know how much you wish for me to serve you. So convince me. Be… diplomatic.” Lore wonders how he can sing so poorly, yet be so entrancing when he speaks. He would do anything to make Weyoun need him. He disregards how much that sounds like needing Weyoun himself.

For all their performative antagonism, the next kiss is controlled and slow. Lore feels Weyoun’s smile widen, sending sparks through his wires. He lifts him from the shuttle wing with very little effort. Weyoun tugs at his shirt until Lore relents and sets him down so they can undress.

Weyoun removes his clothes with an uncanny grace. Lore, unable to look away, is glad for the automatic protocols that mimic muscle memory and prevent him from fumbling with his own. As soon as he’s done, Weyoun sits on the box containing the emergency supplies, crosses his legs demurely, and grins. The grin is genuine, none of the sickening false sweetness Lore has come to expect, and the sparks race down his spine again. The victory of breaking through the diplomat to the man underneath is a thrill. And, though he's loathe to admit it, Weyoun is hot.

Lore throws his pants blindly behind him and approaches the box with clarity of purpose. The Vorta’s been cheating since they met in their battle for dominance by being genetically engineered to come out on top, but Lore knows his sexual prowess is unmatched. Weyoun is going to lose this round. (Though really he'll win as well, because he'll have the best sex of his life.)

Weyoun reaches up and pets his cheek again. His big eyes shine, enigmatic but beautiful, and he traces his fingertips down Lore’s neck to his shoulder. The slight downward pressure triggers something in Lore’s processor and he drops to his knees as if commanded.

“You are incredible,” Weyoun says. It's a little hoarse and Lore basks in the praise. The little voice in his head insists Weyoun is playing him for a fool but his conscious mind is flooded with pride that he took the unshakable Vorta’s breath away. Weyoun uncrosses his legs and hooks one over Lore’s left shoulder. “Let us not delay. I've waited too long already.”

What Lore finds when he finally tears his gaze from the hypnotizing warmth of those purple eyes is like nothing he's seen, and he's seen a lot of sexual organs. Apparently, just like the rest of him, Weyoun’s genitals were purposefully designed to make Lore’s life difficult.

But if he’s learned anything from a lifetime of trysts with aliens of every imaginable variety, it's that there are patterns in nature that make it possible to solve anyone. Lesson number one: if it looks like a dick, suck it.

He doesn't push him away or protest, so Lore assumes he must be doing something right. Weyoun strikes him as the type who enjoys a little noise, so Lore treats him to some of the finer moans he's perfected.

When he looks up a few minutes later to gauge Weyoun’s reaction, he’s staring down at him curiously, one hand playing with his hair. “I have no idea what it is you hope to accomplish with that,” he says after a pause. “Though, I am glad you are enjoying yourself.”

Lore is briefly stunned into silence. If there are no dicks in the Gamma Quadrant, he's never going there. Not even for an army of clones to worship him.

His next sound is a startled shout, because Weyoun takes the pause as an opportunity to push Lore onto his back and sit on his hips. In this position, Lore’s legs are cramped against the box Weyoun vacated, so he kicks it out of the way. It's heavy, but Lore is inhumanly strong. It goes skidding across the camp.

Weyoun looks back over his shoulder in mild amusement. “Never one to pass up an opportunity for theatrics, are you?”

Lore glares at him. “I’m in good company.”

“I think it’s magnificent! Like I'm in a romance novel come to life.” Weyoun giggles. Of course the alien with no aesthetics had an affection for romance novels. “You're my very own ------,” he says, the name of his favorite casanova coming out untranslated. It’s ridiculous. Lore kisses him to shut him up, though he's pleased to know Weyoun finds this romantic.

He grabs Lore’s hands and pins them above his head. It's too gentle to even attempt to hold him down, but done with such deliberation that Lore acquiesces without complaint. The strange combination of affection and domination makes his artificial heart pound.

He wishes Often-Wrong had fixed him so he could experience life like everyone else.

He wishes he could feel anything that his glitchy system didn't identify as rage.

He wishes he could trust that the emotion beaming from Weyoun’s face is more than a fleeting interest to pass the time.

Thankfully, Weyoun distracts him from the inanities of his own thoughts with a strategic roll of his hips. “Handsome as you are to look at, Lore,” (and god, every time his name is spoken in those dulcet tones Lore falls further into helplessness) “I was under the impression you wanted to have sex, not just stare at each other all night. May I proceed?”

Lore nods. He thinks he must be malfunctioning because his mouth is dry and his ‘breath’ is scorching.

Weyoun gives him one more adoring glance before releasing his right hand. “If you would, please, touch me.” Lore feels between Weyoun’s legs for something recognizable. The skin there is folded into itself, forming a small bump. “Mm. Gently.” He shifts slightly and Lore teases his fingers forward across it. Weyoun gasps. His free hand grabs Lore’s shoulder tightly and… well, Lore’s not quite sure what happens, but suddenly there’s a warm lubricant dripping onto his thighs.

“What the fuck,” Lore mumbles, more to himself than Weyoun, who seems quite overstimulated by whatever he just did. He moves his fingers back down and finds that the skin has untangled itself to reveal a hole in its center. Finally, something he understands.

“The-” Weyoun swallows hard and squeezes his eyes tightly shut as Lore rubs the soft skin around his entrance before refocusing. “The species I was last assigned to work with is descended from plant life. They cannot pollinate unless stimulated very specifically.” Lore must look as confused as he feels because Weyoun gives him a dazed smile. “The Founders think it best that Vorta be compatible with the species we work closely with. Diplomacy means many things.”

He pauses, trying to compose himself. Lore seizes the moment to acquaint himself with the new layout of Weyoun’s body post-bloom. Weyoun pins him with a heated stare as he slides a finger inside.

“Luckily,” he continues, “they are semi-humanoid as well, so we should also be compatible. I assume from your behavior you understand that.”

“You offend me, Vorta.” Lore laughs and gives him two more fingers. A moan tears from Weyoun. The death grip on his shoulder tightens.

“Then I apologize for my disrespect, Android,” Weyoun quips back between steadying breaths. “Now please, fuck me.”

Weyoun wasn't kidding about the evolutionary chain of that species; when he removes his fingers he’s immediately hit with an overwhelming floral smell.

He decides someday he’ll eat him out. He ignores the implications of an ongoing relationship in that statement.

For all his pleading, Weyoun isn't the type to wait for others to act, and apparently this delay is one too many. He squeezes Lore’s hips with his knees and exhales deeply as he takes Lore’s dick inside him.

Lore echoes Weyoun’s sigh and sits up to wrap his arms tightly around him. Weyoun throws his own arms around Lore’s shoulders and holds him close.

This position doesn't afford Lore much opportunity to move, but if he lays back he’ll lose the comforting embrace grounding him in the present. Weyoun is more than happy to do the work himself, anyway. He rocks slowly in Lore’s lap, breathing curses against his neck.

“Lore,” Weyoun moans, nearly wails. Lore’s reply is cut off by yet another oddity of Weyoun’s anatomy; on the next downward thrust, thin stems at the deepest point inside him (if his processor’s data recall pinging him desperately with information he really doesn't care about is correct, they're a pollination organ called stamen) brush against the head of Lore’s dick.

Even if they're not stamen, Weyoun’s in no state to explain anything more. He pushes down again and this time the angle flattens them against the walls of his vagina (style, Lore’s system corrects). Lore has to admit that while the entirety of this is surreal, the way they rub him when Weyoun moves is uniquely pleasant.

Weyoun tips his head back with a giggle. His smile is blissful.

Lore leans down to press their foreheads together and just barely manages to choke out Weyoun’s name.

He kisses him, with a sweetness he’s never offered anyone before.

He feels happiness.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps.

They're flying again, thanks to Lore’s technical aptitude. He’s quite proud of himself for some of the creative fixes he put into practice to get this hunk of junk back in the air.

Weyoun had actually been helpful, after Lore fucked him. He may be a diplomat and not an engineer, but he’s smart and capable when he wants to be.

And so good in bed that he’s fucked the glitches right out of Lore’s faulty brain. He isn't about to go running off and pledging himself to Starfleet or anything, but as he watches Weyoun sample the various plantlife they picked up planetside, he feels that happiness once again. Its pleasant warmth is nothing like the burning anger that’s underscored his life so far. The bright, headaching red has faded to an orange glow that resonates through whatever he has that passes for a soul.

He turns back to the stars and wonders where they’ll go from here. The two of them together are capable of anything.

These thoughts are still bouncing around his head a few minutes later when a hand settles on his shoulder, caressing toward his neck.

“What can I do for you, Weyoun?” Lore moves to turn his head and look up at those pretty purple eyes, but the Vorta uses a surprising amount of strength to push him face first onto the console in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Lore. I will miss you a great deal.” Weyoun’s voice is deep with regret and what might be tears, but Lore has no time to analyze it. Everything goes black.

Weyoun catches the deactivated android and lowers him gently to the shuttle floor.

“I live to serve the Founders, but you do not. I must return, but my cowardice cannot enslave you.” He sits, Lore’s head in his lap, and strokes the still, handsome face. “Perhaps in another lifetime, I can be brave,” he whispers, choked with sorrow.

Perhaps.


End file.
